


An evening with Music

by Werewolfqueen



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werewolfqueen/pseuds/Werewolfqueen
Summary: The Soldier is feeling very low and Medic is going to Help him.





	An evening with Music

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really see very much of Soldier that isn't a bully in the recent writings I've read so I wanted to try and write about him with a slightly different approach. I've written things that I've not really written about before in this piece and hope that you all enjoy it and would love to know what you think.

The Medic appeared in a surge of bright swirling colours and he found himself standing in the center of the respawn.  
He shook his head to rid himself of the slight twinge and dull ache that was all that remained of the enemy team's sniper's arrow which had struck him in the forehead just seconds ago.  
He sighed as he ajusted his glasses on the end of his nose, today's battle was proving to be a very difficult one. The Blu team seemed particularly savage this afternoon and the medic doubted that they could keep the control point for very much longer. 

 

The German was just about to head out again to find his Russian friend and try to delay the inevitable when he noticed the Red Soldier in the corner of the Respawn, perfectly still and staring dead ahead with his weapon in his hand.  
It was very unsusal for the Patriot not to charge out of the spawn room to reek revenge as soon as he materilised but then respwan sickness could affect the most sturdy of stomachs.

 

"Herr Soldier? Is everything alright?" the Medic asked.

 

The American didn't seem to even hear him and kept looking straight at the white wall in front of him. His knuckles were pale as they gripped the handle on his Rocket launcher.

 

The Doctor was about to ask a second time when the administrator's voice echoed out across the base.

 

"You have failed".

 

That evening as the hot desert air was finally starting to cool and the first few stars were starting to appear as a sparkling sprinkle across the dark sky, the Red team were sitting at their dining room table. Their meal had long since finished, they were settling into an evening of drinks and card games to try and rid themselves of the sense of shame that had come with that day's defeat. 

 

The room steadily filled with the intoxicating smell of liquor and smoke, a Frankie Laine record span lazily on a gramophone, creating a delicious and soft southern drawl that relaxed the whole room. 

 

A few of the men were playing cards, others were reading and Pyro was drawing up plans for a new Flame thrower, one with a greater range to it. Everyone was trying their hardest not to let their bitterness and frustration show.

 

"Well, that was bloody embarrassing" the Demoman stated to no one in particular, lighting up a cigar to accompany his evening brandy.

 

"Everyone has a bad day" the Engineer replied calmly as he dealt the cards out for a game of Jim Rummy. "Just happened that today was our bad day".

 

"We might of won, if everyone had pulled their weight" Scout added, eyeballing the Soldier before looking at his cards. He pulled a face, with a crap hand like this he would never win. 

 

The Medic looked up from his journal to cast a concerned glance at the soilder who was still wearing his helmet low across his brow. Normally the American would jump at the chance for a shouting match with the loud mouthed runner, but instead tonight he just sat there silently, his jaw tense and his fists clenched.

 

"Aye, would have been nice to have some help when that Blu Pyro came a knocking, Boy" the Demo said, taking a sip of his drink and savoring the rich woody taste while he looked half heartedly at his losing hand.

 

The Soldiers fists tightened and a small bead of sweat worked its way down his throat to his collar. The Medic narrowed his eyes.

 

"Is pointless to dwell on past, better to look to future" The Heavy's powerful voice filled the room before anyone else could say anything. He flicked the page to 'One flew over the Cuckoo's nest', careless of his team's reaction to his input in the conversation. He was not in the mood for an argument that evening.

 

"Yeah well, I bet you won't be saying that when you get burned alive cause someone wasn't paying attention" the Scout persisted.

 

The Soldier stood up abruptly, jogging the table.  
"I must go now, I need to patrol the perimeter" he said loudly, "No one needs to follow me".  
He began marching off down the corridor.

 

Everyone turned to cast a critical look at the loudmouth Scout. 

 

"Boy, that was dead mean and you know it" the Engie scolded as he shuffled his cards.

 

The Boston had the sense to shift uneasily in his seat. Guilt creating a hard stone in the pit of his stomach.

 

"He'll be fine, besides if you guys concentrated as hard on your cards as you did him, you'd win". The Scout said, trying his best to draw attention away from the Soldier and back towards the game at hand as he lay down his five cards to reveal a run from three to five.

 

"Nah, Mate. You gotta learn to hold your tongue as well as your cards" the Sniper said, as he put down his four Queens out on the table smugly.

There was a collective groan form the men that were playing, for a man that spent most of his time alone in the outback, the Australian sure was good at cards.

 

"Aw man, you gotta be cheating or something" the Scout whined.

 

"Skill will always beats luck, mate" the Sharpshooter grinned wickedly.

 

The Medic sighed before standing and looking at the Spy, who had been sitting quietly enjoying a glass of Merlot and a fine Virginia slim while he skimmed over the daily newspaper.

"I will be back, don't come looking for me unless it is an emergency" he muttered quietly to the Frenchman before heading down the same corridor that the soldier had taken just a few moments ago.

 

The Doctor's polished boots clicked down the cool and dim corridor, past the dormitories and on towards his Medical bay.  
He took the time to silently berate the Scout for being such a loud mouth brat, but found that he couldn't really stay mad, he knew how frustrating it could be to lose to the enemy team and he remembered a time where he was young and quick to say things that he never really meant.

 

As he came to the door of the medical bay the German noticed that his door was opened ajar and that a few specks of battlefield dirt lined the floor that hadn't been there when he had done a stock count earlier that day.

 

He pushed the heavy doors open, flicked on the lights and took a moment to enjoy the clean bleach smell that often came with hospitals and doctors, it had become a comforting smell to him, one that almost felt like home to him.

 

He noticed the Soldier almost straight away, the tall American was standing to attention in the middle of the room. His body was rigid, and his fists were balled at his sides. His collar was lined with sweat and his jaw was so tense that his face was trembling.

 

"Good evening, Herr soldier" the Medic said quietly, taking off his jacket and hanging it up neatly.

 

The other man stayed silent. 

 

"I am your Doctor, Soldier, what ever I can do to help I will do it" the Medic replied calmly as he rolled up his sleeves and secured them in place. He looked over at the other man with a reassuring smile.

 

The Patriot opened his mouth but no sound came out only a ragged breath that sounded almost like a sob. The Medic was used to this by now, the first time that he had encountered this reaction was rather unnerving but now he knew exactly what to do.

 

The Soldier sank down on to his knees and covered his face with his hands, his breathing erratic. His face screwed up under his helmet, his eyes tightly shut as if he could block out all the phantoms and haunting images. 

 

The Medic nodded. Quietly he walked over to the Soldier who was rocking to and fro, refusing to look at the doctor.

 

"And you think the music will help, again?" he asked as he placed his hand on the patriot's shoulder.

 

After a moment or two the American nodded, the slightest jerk of his head was all the Medic needed before he walked over to his old gramophone and began to crank the handle.

 

It had been a few months since the Soldier had first come to the Medic convinced that he was suffering from a deadly disease, after a particularly bloody battle with the enemy Heavy he couldn't make himself leave the relative safety of the Spawn room. 

 

The Medic had researched nearly every book in his library and found that years of fighting had left the Soldier with the early stages of Shell shock. If he was honest with himself the Doctor wasn't very surprised, the American was the most battle hardened of the group and that didn't come without consequences. 

 

However the German was a man of science and he was determined that he would help his friend.  
As he had been researching the various methods of helping and supporting patients with the illness, he had discovered music therapy, it was quite an old theory dating back to the First World War and not massively documented. The music allowed patients to create a separate world where they could feel safe and calm.  
It had taken a few attempts at persuading for the Soldier to try but after a particularly harsh episode he reluctantly agreed and after that came to the Medic whenever he felt the need.

 

The medical journal that the Doctor had found in his collection suggested that after a relaxed state a therapy session should take place, these had proven unsuccessful for the Soldier who preferred not to reflect on the episodes after they had passed, but rather have a cup of coffee with the Doctor and partake in small talk.  
The German knew better than to press the American but would always offer, just in case his attitudes changed. He hoped one day that they might be able to find what might be the triggering point for these turns but until then the infirmary would always be a safe refuge. 

 

"Remember to take nice deep breaths, Soldier" the Medic said before he lowered the needle onto the record.

 

The soothing sound of Johann Sebastian Bach filled the small room. They had found that the swirling strings and occasional lively flutes was most effective for soldier.  
The Medic sat at his desk to observe, they had also found that the American didn't take well to physical contact during these sessions. Normally the length of Bach suite 3 was enough time for the Soldier to get his bearings and come back to himself, though the Doctor had been known to play it a few times in particularly difficult times. 

 

After some time the music swelled to a crescendo and the Soldier finally curled in on himself and his breathing deepened and evened out, his body starting to ease and relax. He could feel his eyes start to feel heavy, these episodes always left him feeling tired and vulnerable, but he knew he was in good hands with the team's Doctor.

 

As the music drew to a close the Soldier sat up gingerly, he felt like he had just woken up. He was slightly dizzy and his whole body felt lighter. He looked over at the Medic who smiled and gestured towards a seat with a hot cup of coffee sitting on the desk. 

 

The two men sat and drank their coffee in the calming quiet of the medical office, the Doctor always let the Soldier break the silence, when he was good and ready to do so. After a few minutes the taller man cleared his throat.

 

"Thank you, Doctor" the American said quietly. "For everything, I hope you know I'm grateful".

 

The Medic nodded and smiled, he was pleased he could help his friend, he was also glad that they had a cease fire the next day so that the Soldier could catch up on some sleep and hopefully everyone's mood would lighten come the new morning.  
He knew that the Soldier had a very long way to go and would eventually need to work with the Medic to find more healthier ways of dealing with this issue rather than bottling it up until breaking point, but one bridge at a time, the doctor reminded himself as he took another sip of warm, soothing coffee. 

 

The Gentlemen turned their talk to more positive things like whether the Pyro's new weapon would include a unicorn design or if the Sniper really did cheat at cards.


End file.
